


All of My Friends

by Space_gays_that_arent_in_space



Series: Testosterone [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Porn, Anxiety Disorder, Birthday Party, Break Up, Break Up Talk, Car Sex, Dirk Gently Needs a Hug, Drunk Roxy Lalonde, M/M, Manipulation, Nude Photos, Oblivious Jake English, POV Dirk Strider, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Roxy Is a Good Bro, Roxy Lalonde/Dirk Strider Moirallegiance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Strider Feels, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space/pseuds/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space
Summary: You’ve been an outsider type your whole life, and you don’t really care that you are. Of course, it doesn’t matter when none of your peers are interested in hanging out with you in the first place. Besides, who’s supposed to be the unapproachable one between you and Roxy if not you? It doesn’t matter that your loneliness curls its way inside of you, smothering you deep down inside of you until really there’s nothing there but the loneliness and your own sense of superiority. It doesn’t matter that nobody is really around to tell you whether or not the way that you notice the flex and stretch of the other guys in your gym class is normal for a boy of your age and inclination. Not that it matters though, of course it doesn’t. You’ve graduated past the need for insecurities like that, or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself.Then, you meet Jake.Jake English is 5’8 to your 5’10, he’s compact muscle and old timey phrases and the plushest lips you’ve ever seen. Damn does he have an ass, too. It’s firm and his thighs are strong and God you’re staring. You’re staring at him and Dirk it is 10am you should not be being like this so god damn early in the morning.
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Series: Testosterone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019008
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	All of My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Just binge wrote this after starting it yesterday morning. 2:30 instead of 3 this time gang, I am so fucking tired Jesus fuck. I hope you like this though!! First attempt at DirkJake after hitting Dirk nirvana in my brain and falling in love with him

You’ve been an outsider type your whole life, and you don’t really care that you are. Of course, it doesn’t matter when none of your peers are interested in hanging out with you in the first place. Besides, who’s supposed to be the unapproachable one between you and Roxy if not you? It doesn’t matter that your loneliness curls its way inside of you, smothering you deep down inside of you until really there’s nothing there but the loneliness and your own sense of superiority. It doesn’t matter that nobody is really around to tell you whether or not the way that you notice the flex and stretch of the other guys in your gym class is normal for a boy of your age and inclination. Not that it matters though, of course it doesn’t. You’ve graduated past the need for insecurities like that, or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

Then, you meet Jake. 

Jake English is 5’8 to your 5’10, he’s compact muscle and old timey phrases and the plushest lips you’ve ever seen. Damn does he have an ass, too. It’s firm and his thighs are strong and God you’re staring. You’re staring at him and Dirk it is 10am you should not be being like this so god damn early in the morning. 

He meets your gaze and he waves at you. You’re sitting at a lab table with Roxy. She’s doing most of the experiment while you stare. Jake just got sent down from the office and all you want to do is hear his voice. Then, like some sort of higher entity heard you, he’s walking over. He’s all waves and smiles and sort of buck teeth. You set your jaw and try to act like you haven’t been staring at him for the entirety of the last five minutes. 

”Hello new chums, nice to make your acquaintance. I’m Jake.” 

His voice has an unexpected tenor to it that makes your face hot, and his accent is ridiculous. You’re so into this-into him. You absolutely refuse to let him know. 

”We know, the teacher introduced you, remember?” 

You keep your tone even and refuse to acknowledge that your inherent asshole-ishness is really rearing it’s head today. Good job Dirk, you’re gonna fuck up your chances with this guy before you even get them. He’s still grinning at you though, like what you said was funny rather than snarky. 

”I suppose that is true, just felt I ought to give you a proper introduction seeing as we should be working together for the foreseeable future.” 

”I guess we are.” 

Jake is a breath of fresh air, something new, something good for you. He moved here from some random island in the pacific that you spent hours hunting down on the internet, out of irony of course. He has a younger sister, apparently. He’s sweet and stupid and you could listen to him talk for hours, you do, actually. 

You listen to Jake talk endlessly about his adventures, how he’s lived all around the world with his family. It’s interesting, more than interesting, he’s incredible. He likes things like Indiana Jones and guns and when you spar with him you feel like you can really let loose. Jake English is a breath of fresh air, and you, Dirk Strider, are something of an asthamtic, apparently. He has no clue how stupid you are for him, how desperately you feel, but it doesn’t matter either. It doesn’t matter in the same way that everything else doesn’t. You simply use your wide array of skills for the sake of helping him out. In the meantime, of course, planning a way to express this newfound stupidity to him with the best possible outcome. Jake is not the first person-first _guy_ that you’ve liked. No, you’ve liked a lot of guys, guys who have felt nothing for you because you spent much too long even trying to gauge whether or not they’re gay before even considering the type they could have. Jake is the same as those guys, in a way. He’s so hard to read, with his red-blooded masculinity and love for weaponry and his absolutely wicked jawline. He’s probably straight, you know that, but every hint that you’re given is even more of a lead, something to make you fall even harder, even faster. 

By nature, you are not an impulsive person, but Jake makes you go against said nature. Jake makes you stupid, and all you want is to be stupid for him always. You’re ashamed of yourself. 

A couple months into knowing him is when this stupidity decides to expose itself, though not because of your own stupidity. Instead, it is Roxy’s-or rather, Roxy’s telling Jane that you’re ‘head-over-heels-sorta-super-mega-gay for Jake’. That stupidity is what gets you here, in the back of Jake’s car, kissing him until you’re sure your brain has melted. He’s so much, he’s like the sun. He shines on you warm and bright, his smile is just as sweet. You’re sick with yourself. You’ve become a romantic sap all over some guy who you met a few months ago. You hate it. You hate it just as much as it makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

Jake has his tongue jammed down your throat and his body wedged just as tight between your legs. God, he smells like pine trees and cinnamon and something that you can’t quite place. You’ve got your hands fisting the back of his coat and when his hips roll down against you you let out an absolutely guttural noise. You’re in the back of a dark parking lot, Target, right on the strip. You’ve been doing this for who knows how long. It doesn’t even matter, right now it’s all about the way that Jake kisses you like you’re about to die. You love it, this feeling of being wanted, of being held so securely in his muscular arms. You buck your hips up and nip at his bottom lip. He sighs into your mouth and you can feel how hard he is. 

You’ve been kissing like this for too long, you know that he wants more than this. He always does, and you don’t ever mind giving it to him. You move your kisses to his jaw, then his neck, taking a moment to suck a hickey right against his jugular. He lets out a low sound and it goes straight to your dick. You move your hand from his back and down to his cargo shorts, shooting right to the button and popping his pants open with practiced ease. 

”Gee willickers Dirk, already jumping for a bit of gunplay?” 

You bite your lip and think, trying to come up with something clever to say. You can’t. You hate the way he leaves you lacking for words in places where there are usually so many. Of course, you don’t say things needlessly-you try your fucking best not to, but Jake English seems to just steal the thoughts from your brain, like some sort of insane fucking creature-or illness. Then you, like the fool you are, just keep letting him. You’re left with a warm feeling, and you kiss him. You want to make sure that he knows just how willing and ready you are for him. He seems as giddy as you, despite this not even being the first time. You like it, that he wants you, even though when he wants you he never comes right out and says it. No, instead he’s almost shy, too nervous to tell you that he wants to fuck you in the backseat of his car in this Target parking lot in the middle of the night, too nervous to tell you when you sit on his bed that he wants you to suck him off, all of it is as cute to you as it is comforting. You take his cheek into your hand and caress his cheekbone, the apples of them are so prominent, it’s lovely. Jake laughs into your mouth and you resist the urge to smile. He’s shimmying his pants off now and you’re following as best you can. You two separate fully, just long enough to get your pants off. Jake is hard in his boxers, you can see the tent and it makes the corner of your lips quirk up a little. He’s got a flush going down to his collarbones where bruises are already forming a trail from his jaw and down his neck. 

Prep takes no time at all really, before Jake picked you up earlier, you stretched yourself in the privacy of your bedroom with the lights completely off. It was preamble, a way to work yourself up just enough to be really interested in what he has to offer, though that isn’t to say that you aren’t usually interested. You always are. It's necessary. Now, Jake stretches you more with the lube you brought and his fingers. They’re so thick and so hot, the feel of them inside you works you up more, and it feels good. It feels so fucking good. His hands are calloused and when his fingers drag inside of you, searching for your prostate- he can’t stand hearing it called that, always mumbling about finding your ‘sweet spot’, it’s cute. He does, he always finds it. He finds it and when he brushes against it you feel hot all over and all you want is for him to slam against you. Instead, he kisses you and you can feel the way he wants you the more that you clench down on him. He twists his fingers a little and pushes them in deeper, one direct hit has you sighing out fuck before you know it. 

Jake is giggling now, pleased that you’re being noisy for him. You know how much he likes it, how much he likes hearing that you like what he’s doing for you. Even if you just can’t muster it upon will. 

His hand holding your thigh is strong, calloused. You want him to grab you tighter, pull you closer. Instead, he just pulls his fingers out of your ass and rolls a condom down on his dick. He wonder if you can ask him not to use one, if he’d be willing to fuck you and cum right inside. Fuck you full until all you’ve ever known was him. Your dick twitches, and you keep your mouth shut. You look at his face when he finishes with the condom, throwing it on to the floor with the rest of the trash he’s got thrown around there. He seems eager, like always, good. It’s all so good. It’s as good as you are stupid. You’re so very fucking stupid. He pours the last of the little packet of lube you brought on his dick before he lines himself up. 

”Gosh Dirk, you feel so warm” 

His cock notches against your asshole, it’s slick and he’s burning hot. Fuck, you tilt your head back and try to bite back a moan. It isn’t exactly on purpose, you know that he likes your noises but just as well you understand that you two are out in public. You reach for him, go to pull him close so that he’s flush against you, he’s still focused on sliding into you, inch by ridiculously thick inch. Jake’s dick, just like the rest of him, is something that you love. It’s hot and thick and stretches you wide, especially right now. The groan he lets out when his hips hit flush against your ass goes right to your dick in a way that you would not have realized gets you as much as it does had you not heard it so many times. 

He grabs your hips firm in his hands and pulls out slowly, all before pushing back in. Jake fucks you gently, like he loves you, like he doesn’t want to hurt you. You think that’s it, though you do remember the first time you two ever did anything. You’re his first guy, ever. You wonder if that makes your sex more special. You want it to. There’s another part of you though, a wishes that he would fuck you harder. Fuck you like he means it, but you have a masochistic streak. You have a masochistic streak and Jake is the sweetest guy you’ve ever met in your life. There’s no way in hell he’d hurt you, whether you asked or not. You like that about him though, his sweetness. This time, when he fucks back into you, it’s deeper than before, and he leans down to kiss you. You kiss him back, arching into his touch and trying to pull him down to hold you again. He keeps his hands firmly on your hips, he’s angling them slightly, you can feel it. You tilt to meet his thrusts better, try to get him to hit your prostate again, just like he did with his fingers. His tongue presses into your mouth and just as he does he finds it. 

You fucking melt. 

He keep melting, melting deeper and hotter as Jake fucks you. He holds you in place while his cock splits you open. He’s so big that even the slow and gentle makes your thighs quaked. It’s almost ridiculous the way that he uses that ever present stamina of his. Usually, he fucks you over and over again, fucks you till you can’t fuck anymore. Tonight isn’t the usual though, not when he has to get home soon to catch the Indiana Jones Movie Marathon on AMC tonight. 

You can hear the squeaks from the car, you can feel it shaking. God, you’re so dumb for him. You nip at his bottom lip, he smiles. His hands hold you tighter, like he’s holding back. You want to tell him he doesn’t have to, that you can take whatever he wants to give, but when you open your mouth all that comes out is a weird cut off noise. You should be embarrassed, more than embarrassed. Instead, you wrap a hand around your dick, a dick that is furiously leaking precum, and start fucking up into it. He keeps brushing against your prostate, never quite slamming it directly but it’s so good. Oh god it’s so good. You know you’re close, close enough that you can’t totally hold back every noise. It isn’t long until Jake seems to feel the same way, his face is screwing up tighter and tighter, the face would be stupid if you weren’t in such a similar position. His pace becomes more frantic until finally his hips stutter and he cums right into the condom. You take a little longer than him, your hand still wrapped around your dick, squeezing it just tight enough for it to hurt a little. 

You cum right on to your shirt and the sense of embarrassment you feel does actually strike. 

Jake doesn’t seem to notice, instead he’s nearly slumping forward on top of you. Your skin is tacky with sweat, and you want to tell him to move so that you can get rid of this feeling but you don’t want to hurt him. You lay like that for a while, until Jake finally sits up and pulls out. You wish you weren’t so overly prepared, you wish you could’ve convinced him to cum inside of you. It doesn’t matter now though, maybe next time. Besides, the look on Jake’s face tells you he’s happy, and you want to keep him happy for as long as you can. He throws the condom out the window at some point while you’re shimmying your jeans back on. The windows are still clouded and you feel a sense of relief at the fact that nobody else was around to see this and maybe call the cops on you two. 

Jake takes you home and your conversation is more so him talking about having played rugby over the weekend with his family. 

”Despite him being a dog, dear Bec is quite good at the game. I think Jade must have taught him when I was away at school a while back.” 

You’re half listening really, mostly tired and focused on how things are fine now, how the two of you are safe. You get like this sometimes, worried that maybe Jake doesn’t like you as much as you like him. It’s irrational, you know that. You know that him being busy and not responding to your texts sometimes is normal. He’s a guy with friends, he has more people in his life than just Roxy and Jane, though her sort of. He has other friends and you’re just being needy, you know that so well that you might as well have it tattooed on to your brain, but you still can’t help but think about it. You can’t help but find yourself wonder if maybe you’re too needy, or too overbearing, or that maybe you’re just too much for him overall, which is when you send him pictures, or offer things like what you did tonight. Jake can’t not love you when you fuck him, you know that, and it’s a comfort. If he wants to fuck you-if he does fuck you, then everything is fine. 

That’s the thought you hold on to now, and when Jake drops you off in front of your apartment, you kiss him on the cheek. Things will be easy now, easy until they aren’t and your brain begins to stir-whir-guess-fight you on whether or not he’s really in love with you. You can’t be sure of anything from other people, Bro taught you that. Outsiders are lame. Outsiders are untrustworthy. If you can barely trust your older brother, who are you supposed to trust? Outsiders are definitely not the kind of people you should be trusting. Besides, Striders are inherently cooler than everyone, and when you’re cooler than everyone else you have to realize that they become unreliable, as reliable as you want them to be. 

You don’t announce your return, it’s really unnecessary since Dave is probably out too, or at the very least fucking off in his room. Bro is in his room too, of that you’re sure since you can hear him working away on another one of his weird snuff films. You go right to your room, kicking one of Bro’s lame ass puppets. God, his are so terrible. It’s like he’s trying to piss you off with their quality and his negligence. He has so many, why not just throw them all around? 

He treats you two like that, like his puppets. Dave is worse off for it, at least you’re mostly unscathed. You, Dirk Strider, could even be considered something of the best Strider out of the three of you. At least, that’s what you want to think, but to be the Best Strider, is the same thing as being the most unscathed victim of a house fire, you’re sure there are third degree burns somewhere, and you just haven’t seen them yet. Dave is more obviously fucked up, he’s so antsy and he talks to fill up space rather than say anything real. You sort of hate him for it. He talks so much and fills up space where he doesn’t have to, he has so many friends. You hate him for that, too. You hate that he’s constantly able to go out with an ever rotating cast of characters while you’re stuck with your tiny friend group who you don’t want to bother with your constant need for attention. 

In the same breath, you pity him. You hate him and his stupid friends and his need to talk endlessly, and you pity the way that he needs help. You pity him for those weird videos Bro had him in, videos that you know he still watches even now. You don’t know what he does with them exactly, but he’s always there, sitting at the computer and rewatching them. Sometimes he tries to change the tab when he catches you looking, but by then you’ve been standing there for five minutes, watching your even more kid of a kid brother tears open one of those tacky, ugly puppets that have stained your childhood. 

When you get into your room you’re met with your own puppets, higher in quality and much more comforting to look at. They’re a sanctuary in and of themselves, they’re the thing that can’t hurt you like people can. You shiver, disgusted with yourself. You can’t believe you’ve hit the point of desperation that you’re clinging to puppets like they’ll protect you from human emotions. 

Who are you, Dave? 

Though, Dave has none of the appreciation for puppets or robotics that you do, and he’s a lot more visibly emotional. Even still, this is very Dave behavior of you, and you would much rather be you than your annoying kid brother. 

You take one of your puppets into your hands and squeeze its plush ass. It’s comforting, like a stress ball. You imagine getting to that sort of point with Jake, a point where you could grab his ass and it wouldn’t be weird. You wonder if that’s ever possible for the two of you, or if one day he’ll inevitably get Strider fatigue and be done with you. Your stomach curls at the thought, and you toss the puppet out of your sight. You’re being ridiculous. You just left hanging out with him and you know for an undeniable fact that he enjoyed himself. 

That’s something Bro taught you too. 

He taught you that the key to understanding people, to making sure that they couldn’t just leave. You give them something. Whatever you have to give them, you do it, all for the sake of your need. It’s desperate, you know this, but it works. For all the shit Bro has done, his lessons have never failed you, and for that you owe him the tiniest bit of respect. So, you offer Jake your body, in all its aspects. You give him your brain and your heart and you give him sex. He likes it, he likes you. He likes that you help him with his homework and that you dote and he likes it when you let him fuck you in the back of his car over and over again until your legs are shaking and numb and he looks like he does right after a good wrestling match. He likes it when you send dirty pictures of yourself in compromising positions that make you more self aware than you ever have been in your life. He likes it all, and he especially likes it when he gets to fuck your face and cum right down your throat all the while you stare up at him with teary eyes and a heart full of the knowledge that he's still interested. As long as you keep it up, your relationship will be fine. Besides, you do this with everyone, in small ways. You offer up your robots and your intellect and you keep the people you have to around. The only person who doesn’t require this sort of payment is Roxy. All Roxy needs is your friendship, she told you that once. 

Roxy is having her birthday party soon. Soon as in next week. You’re going with Dave, who you’re sure will be leaving you as soon as you arrive as per your silent agreement in all situations in which you’re anywhere within the same hundred foot radius that isn’t your own home. 

You spend your time toying with her gift, a stuffed cat with a lace dress. It’s an ironic gift, programmed to recite the entirety of her mother’s book series in the quietest decibel known to man. 

You check over and over again for texts from Jake every free chance that you get. You see him at school, of course, but usually he’s talking with someone else, or running off somewhere. He’s a busy guy, you can respect that. Though that isn’t to say a good morning or maybe info on him coming to Roxy’s party wouldn’t be appreciated. You’ve asked before. You don’t think he forgot, she’s been talking about it all week, but you come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be wrong of you to check in. It counts as your first Couple Outing if he decides to come with, now that you realize it. The thought is disgusting as it is exciting. You pick up your phone and text Jake yet again. 

_Hey dude, you’re still going to Rox’s party, right?_

That one is from four days ago. 

_Just wanted to check in case you don’t have a ride_

The morning (4am) of the following day. 

_It’s cool if you don’t need one_

The next afternoon. 

_Sorry bro, just thinking a lot._

Yesterday evening. 

_Rox didn’t actually mention to me whether or not you’re going. Did something come up?_

This morning. 

You’re going fucking crazy. 

You almost type it out, the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue for the duration of this ‘relationship’ of yours. 

_Are you sick of me?_

You don’t send it though, you’re not that desperate. 

Instead, you just focus your attention on the cat. It’s got a stupid smiley face on it, a little cat mouth like the one Roxy always uses when she texts you. You’ve stabbed your hands about twelve times embroidering the cover for it and spent even longer on the lace. This is your best work yet. 

Jake doesn’t text you back. 

He doesn’t text you back, not even to mention whether or not he’s going to the party. You didn’t exactly mean for your messages to get so out of hand, if they are out of hand. You aren’t sure. All you can be sure of is that he hasn’t texted you back, and he probably won’t by the time the party rolls around. It’s tonight. 

You pull out your phone and look at the messages you’ve sent and lick your lips. Maybe you have to do it, maybe, in order to make sure that things between the two of you are fine, you have to do this for him. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you and your body are meant for much than fighting and fucking. Your body isn’t even really yours. 

You pull off your shirt and unbutton your pants. 

You always get embarrassed when you have to look at yourself like this. Holding your shirt up in your mouth and exposing your stomach. It’s firm, you know it is. You used to be proud of your body, proud in the way that you knew that only Bro’s training could make someone buff. Dave packed it on like lean muscle, he’s still too scrawny for his own good but underneath all that scrawniness is the strength that has been instilled upon both of you. Now, you’re using the body that that strength has created for the sake of winning your boyfriend back. You glance at the camera over your shades, trying to look sultry. Nudes are more uncomfortable than actual sex. At least with that you know what Jake is into. He likes to have his dick sucked. He likes seeing you there, between his legs. You wish he would fuck your face. There’s something to latch on to. Jake staring down at you while you suck his dick, looking pleased, the look in his eyes loving. You start to palm yourself. You snap the picture. You look at it. You look gross. The lighting is all wrong and you hate the way that your body is contorting. 

You move to your bed inside, refuse to get your face in the shot. Instead he just needs a shot of your body. He likes your body, he likes folding you in half, mating press, fucking you deep and whispering praise and kindness to you. It’s good. It’s so good and he’s so good and you’ve got a half chub, perfect for photographing. You snap a few more pictures, try to catch an angle that makes you feel less disgusted, though there is an overhang of disgust to all of this. You stink of desperation. 

You look like shit in the new pictures too. 

You contort your body in more ways, desperate to find something that looks good. You spend an hour doing it, taking each and every photo over and over again until you’ve got yourself face down ass up and your dick hard. You actually look good in this one. 

Your abs are flexing and your hair looks good in the light. You send it to him before you can regret it. 

You regret it immediately after. 

You throw your phone off to the side and refuse to look at it. Instead, you focus on your outfit for tonight. Something simple, a t-shirt, jeans, you decide you’ll wear your favorite recreational tank top. You’re staring up at your ceiling, hoping it’ll buzz. It doesn’t. So you sit, you sit and wait for your erection to totally flag from the sheer intensity of your shame before you get up. You have to put the finishing touches on Roxy’s gift. There isn’t much left, just a few sprits of corporate stooge endorsed perfume and a test run. You can’t hear the thing in the slightest, but you can feel the faintest of vibrations in your animatronic pal. Perfect. You set the doll on to your desk, right next to all your other little projects, and grab your sword. You’ll practice on the roof. That way you’ll be able to clear your head without desperately feeling the need to text him. The shower is going, you know it’s Dave because Bro would never make himself so obvious. It doesn’t matter. 

When you show up on the roof, it’s too hot for your own good. It’s smothering, makes you feel like you could choke. You wonder if this is how you feel to Jake, too much. You unsheath your blade and focus on the practice dummies Bro has up for you guys. 

Sometimes you wish that you weren’t so much for everyone. 

You wish you were easy going. 

You wish you could have fun without being so worried all the time. 

You wished you were the kind of person who didn’t have to push people away. 

Your eyes feel wet underneath your shades. You refuse to acknowledge it. Striders don’t cry. Striders keep face for the sake of their own coolness. Striders are the coolest bastards out there and you’re a disgrace to the name for crying over some boy. That boy. That breath of fresh air that has brightened up your stupid gay life in more ways than you can count. Bro would kick your ass if he found out that you were being like this. He’d kick your ass if he realized that his lessons had gone to waste on you. 

The dummy is something of a conduit for all of these feelings that you have. Each slash of your sword is a form of commentary that is too sincere to ever be said out loud. This is your unironic little dance, right up on the roof, under the heat of the Texas sun. 

By the time you’ve finally tuckered yourself out, it’s almost time to go. Your shower lasts no time, and it’s during said shower that you realize Dave probably used your conditioner. Fuck him you guess. When you check the time you realize you’re almost late. It strikes fear in your heart. Shit. You pound on Dave’s door. 

”C’mon, it’s almost time to go.” 

You don’t move until you hear Dave muttering, and then he asks about the fucking amount of time he has left. You’re gonna throttle him. Jesus fucking Christ. 

”Five minutes, hurry up and finish in there so we can leave. We’re late as is.” 

You move quickly, grabbing Roxy’s gift and your phone, no new messages. The ride to Roxy’s is dead silent, there isn’t much that the two of you can say now, not when you’re both so busy being caught up in your rich inner worlds. Her house is decked out for her birthday, flushed in pretty pinks and roses. When you get inside there are balloons and people drinking, there are even big ass portraits of her strewn about everywhere. She looks beautiful in all of them. Sometimes you have to wonder why Roxy is your friend, why she holds you close to her heart like she’s precious. You don’t get what she sees, why she finds you so necessary, but you like it. You like her trust and her honesty and the way that you can always be there for her just like she’ll always be there for you. 

She squeals when she catches you and Dave approaching. She obviously drunk, her limbs are too heavy and her wine glass is just barely being held afloat. She looks lovely though, her dress is fitted and she’s showing off way too much cleavage to be considered tasteful. It doesn’t matter though, not when she’s the best dressed here. Dave hands off his gift first and disappears. He’s probably gonna go get drunk with his friends or something. 

Roxy throws her arms around your neck and kisses you on the cheek with a loud smack. You take it. 

”Dirk, I’m sho glad you colud make it on sych short notiec!” 

”I’ve known about the part for a week, Rox, remember?” 

She jolts a little. “Oh! You’re sho right m’sorry” 

”Rosey’s mixin’ drinks if you wanna get up in that, they’re absolutel the best” 

You nod a little, but don’t make any moves. You don’t have to really, not when Roxy is lugging around the bottle that’s keeping her glass full like it’s a purse. Instead, you look around for Jake, hopeful that you’ll see him. 

”Roxy,” 

”Yeeeeeeeees Dirk.” 

”Do you possibly have any idea of Jake’s whereabouts?” 

She snorts a little bit, the snort she only does when you know you’ll end up holding her hair back before the night is out. She thinks though, and you’re grateful for even the possibility that you might get to see Jake. 

”Yeah, Jake gave m this gift earlier, some rifle or osmethin. S’gonna look shooooo good with kmy collection,” She lets out a little hiccup “He’s back somewhere, by the pool I tbink” 

You nod, “don’t get yourself killed while I’m gone” 

”No promises!” 

She blows you a kiss and you’re on your way. Striderquest: Legend of the Mysterious Boyfriend. It’s terrible. A bad game and you don’t want to play, but you do anyway. You play and you walk your ass right back to the Lalonde’s pool. It’s filled with rose petals and bath bombs to make it pink enough for Roxy and her birthday. You have to give them their credit, the Lalonde girls really know how to go all out. You see Jake standing by the wall, sipping at a beer and talking with some people who you don’t totally recognize while on the phone. You feel like you’ve been shot through the chest by one of Roxy’s guns, and then you regain your composure. Jake saw the notifications for your messages, and he just didn’t respond. Not even to your picture. 

You feel like you could be sick. You aren’t though, instead, you watch as his face does something weird when he notices you. It’s like he has to hide that he isn’t excited to see you. Still, he musters up a smile, and you wave. 

”Dirk! So great to see you could make it to Roxy’s party. Is everything treating you well?” 

”I just got here.” 

”Is that so, well, why don’t we get you having some fun, eh?” 

You nod, and you let Jake take you along to Rose. He doesn’t hold your hand, nor does he particularly acknowledge you in a romantic way. Instead, you look like two bros just hanging out. You feel sick. Rose is busy now, giggling and smiling with some girl who you don’t know nor do you care about. You grab yourself a coke and Jake gets another bottle of beer. 

”So…” 

Jake is trying to grapple for conversation, and your only thoughts are why? 

_Why why why why why_

Why didn’t he text you back? 

You listen to Jake talk about himself, about how he’s been enjoying the party and how Roxy seems to be quite the host. You listen to him talk about his little sister having asked to join him here and how he said no. You listen and you listen and you lead him away from everyone, right to the East Wing. 

You take his beer from him and take a swig. It’s acrid and tastes like shitty wheat. You drink down the whole bottle before setting your Coke to the side. Liquid courage isn’t in the form of piss, you decide. It’s all in your actions. You grab Jake by his cheeks, already pushing him up against a wall. You're desperate, hungry for him, hungry to show you want him and why he should want you, you want to show him that you’re sorry, show him that you can be better. There’s a disgust that is awakening inside of you as you make your plea, your plea made up of hands in his hair and his hands on your ass. He’s pulling you closer, impossibly so. Needy. Needy. Need. Needy. So much need and want and desire, and you can taste the alcohol on his lips. You don’t care though, you don’t have to care. Not when he wants you like this. 

You hike your leg over his hip and pull him closer. No one will catch you here. Nobody ever comes over here. You have him to yourself and everything is right. It’s right like it always is when you have him. You don’t have to be scared because he’s here in your arms. Why he didn’t text you back isn’t important. It can’t at all be important when you have him humming into your mouth, brushing hard against you with need. You let out a little sound, something to tell him how you want him, how you _need_ him. Then, it all comes to a stop. 

You’re getting a call, and Jake stays there, right where you leave him against the wall. 

”Dirk,” Roxy’s voice sounds weak. 

”Yes?” 

”Come hokd my hand, pease. I ned youuuuu” 

You find yourself exasperated before the word hold. Even still, you ask her which bathroom she’s in and she tells you. The small one by the entryway, the one that’s used for guests. You hang up, as you do you can hear Jane shushing her while she throws up again. You had barely left her, the party had barely started, and now you know that you’ll be spending Roxy’s birthday with her cuddled up in bed. You do this every year. Big extravagant parties that turn into quiet comfort. It’s okay though, you like things better than way. 

You turn to Jake, and there’s this look on his face. It’s apprehensive, though it’s missing the giddiness you like to see it paired with. Instead there’s only solemnity. He takes a step toward you and touches your arm. Your stomach drops. You know what this is, what this look is and what this face means and why he didn’t even respond to that picture of you. 

You’re going to be sick. 

”Dirk, I thought we could maybe have a chat.” 

Your legs feel weak. 

”It’s just that, lately, it seems like you’re more invested in our relationship than I am. You’ve become different from the fellow that I so enjoyed when things between us began, it’s saddening really. I miss the feeling of adventure between us! Remember all the shenanigans we’d get into. Now it’s all the same thing.” 

Your stomach hurts so bad, you have to wonder if it’s an ulcer forming. 

”That isn’t to say I don’t still appreciate your presence. If anything I think I can appreciate you more because of how fine a lover you’ve been-” 

”Jake.” 

”I just wanted to say that maybe things would be best if we-” 

This cannot be real. It can’t be. If it’s real then God can just strike you down here and right the fuck now. Jake English cannot be breaking up with you because you weren’t good enough. You failed, Dirk. You failed and you’re a failure and the first guy you ever felt a real connection with doesn’t like you anymore because you’ve become some sort of needy fucking girlfriend. You’d dump you. You’d dump you way harsher than Jake just did. 

”Jake, as much as I would love to engage you in this dramatic rapport we are currently forming through your dumping of me at Roxy’s birthday, I have to go take care of some things. We can deal with this tomorrow.” 

With that, you walk away from him, repressing the ball that is currently forming in your throat and the ache in your stomach. Nobody can see that your eyes are teary when you have your shades on, and in your skill of the straight face, they can’t even tell the absolute agony you’re in. You walk right into the bathroom and see Jane rubbing Roxy’s back, cooing to her while she cries about having ruined the party again. She insists she hasn’t. It’s all a sad sight, and you take over it. It’s so easy for you, taking control of situations, even with Jake, you went against your better nature and let him lead you. You let him be the one to set the rules and pick the games and you just followed behind, heart eyes and all. You’re disgusted with yourself for it, even more disgusted by the fact that you’re nursing a broken heart so bad that every word that leaves your mouth is lead filled, caked with your unshed tears. 

You and Jane take Roxy up to her room, you tell Jane to leave you two alone when you get her on to the bed. Really, you could’ve done all of this by yourself, but Jane is Roxy’s friend too, she at least deserves the chance to take care of her while drunk. Even though she can see the way her eyes, cynical as they are ignorant, draw over her. She doesn’t like Roxy’s drinking, neither do you, but you don’t see this as anything more than a phase, and she sees it as a lifestyle. Jane leaves you, and you end up right beside Roxy, who is now barely conscious. 

”Roxy,” You say, mostly into the darkness. 

She makes a little grunt, a hm if it had fallen flat on it’s fucking face. 

”Jake broke up with me,” It’s all you can say, and saying it out loud makes it all too real. 

You think about everything you did for him, everything you offered just so he’d continue to love you, and it turns out that all those offerings were not enough. It never is. You’re not enough, not worthy of the love everyone else seems to get. It hurts. You resist the urge to cry yet again. You won’t cry. Strider Men don’t cry. You’re not the type of person to get attached to others, remember? That’s your job, be unapproachable. Don’t let people into your heart, Dirk. It’ll only get you hurt, and you saw it coming. You saw it coming and still got yourself hurt. 

You’re so fucking stupid. 

By nature, you are not an impulsive person, but Jake makes you go against said nature. Jake makes you stupid, and all you want is to be stupid for him always. You’re ashamed of yourself. You’re ashamed that you’re still so stupid for him, even after he has hurt you. You’re ashamed of all of the things you did for the sake of his attention, his affection, out of your need to finally have something to stave off your eternal loneliness. You let your shame flow up and out of you as you press your face into Roxy scented pillows. You hate yourself. 

In the morning you send Dave a litany of texts, all of which boil down to you wanting to take your asses home. Roxy is still asleep, she will be until well into the afternoon, maybe in the evening, but she’s safe. She didn’t choke to death on her own vomit and that’s really all you can ask for now. You push a few strands of hair from your face and climb off of the bed. You’re still completely dressed, and you think about what you said to Jake. 

Tomorrow, huh? 

Any moment now he could text you. Tell you all the reasons you’re a shit boyfriend and worth nothing to him. All the reasons that you’re unlovable. Reasons that you've known for a long time. Reasons that do nothing but confirm your suspicion that maybe Striders are meant for a different, unknown sort of existence. Maybe you’ll use your robotic skills to make the world’s first full sentient human-like android, and watch the world burn by the hands of your robotic children, or maybe you’ll just become some 30-something stay at home fuck up. 

Either way, you know that Jake will have been the driving factor behind all of it. 

The car ride with Dave home is silent. It doesn’t matter. He’s playing in his head just like you’re playing in yours, and neither of you need each other’s bullshit. He’s obviously hungover, and if you weren’t in your current position you’d probably tease him for it. Call him a lightweight or maybe even ask what the satire was in his getting fucked up, but you don’t, you can’t. He goes right to his room when you both get home, you go to yours. Bro is still working at something on his computer, and you don’t have any of the energy needed to hate his puppets or him or even how loud everything feels. 

All you have is pity, and pity is not something for Strider men. 

You stare at your sword, thrown hastily back on its stand before you left last night. Your phone buzzes, and you feel your heart stop. You should look, you know you should. The second buzz is a beacon, a light calling you to the shore you _should_ be swimming to. You don’t though, you’ve gone the right way too much, time to go left. Time to be impulsive and take a risk because even if Jake English is no longer your boyfriend (as of about 12 hours ago), he is still infecting you like a plague. 

You move, grabbing your sword and taking the steps to the roof three at a time with tears in your eyes and an ache in your chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi kudos, comments, etc are greatly appreciated and there is a 99% chance that if you comment I'll reply.
> 
> @tamyura_on twt  
> @porcelain_babies on insta


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